Dead Heat (15 page)

Georgia jumped and spun around. Florid-Face was standing right behind her.

“Wow. You gave me a fright,” she said, and stretched out her hand. “I’m Terri Deewell. Here to fix your computer problem.”

He didn’t shake. “BCP Computers don’t employ a Terri Deewell. I just checked.”

She assumed surprise. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“I’d like you to leave right this minute. Before I call the police.”

“But I was just—”

He came and gripped her upper arm. “Out.”

Robert stepped back. He was scratching his cheek.

Georgia snatched her arm free. “Okay, okay, I’m going . . .”

“You lot make me sick. Pack of hyenas is all you are.”

Florid-Face picked up a phone and punched some numbers.

“Steve? We’ve another journo here. Come and see her out, would you?”

Steve the security guard didn’t seem to care that he was three times her size and that she had a bandage on her left hand.
She pleaded with him to be careful, that she’d only just had an operation, but he ignored her and hauled her unceremoniously
down the corridor, gripping the collar of her T-shirt tightly in his fist. It made her feel as though she was a disobedient
puppy being thrown out for lack of bladder control.

They entered reception, Steve striding, Georgia scrabbling to keep up.

“What’s going on?” It was Yumuru, looking surprised.

“She’s a reporter. Hassling the guys in the pharmacy about Suzie.”

Yumuru’s eyebrows remained high. “Really?”

“You want me to drive her into town? Get rid of her?”

Long pause while Yumuru studied Georgia. He had said she could stay in the clinic as long as she liked, but now that she’d
been caught nosing around his pharmacy, she wondered if the invitation would stay open.

“No,” said Yumuru. “I’ve got to go into town myself. I’ll take her.”

Y
ou’re not a reporter,” Yumuru said. They were walking down the slate-and-wood steps to the parking lot. The atmosphere
was stifling and she could smell the soft earthy mulch of the rainforest simmering in the midday sun and hear the screech
of sulphur-crested cockatoos.

“No,” she agreed. “I’m a book rep. Venus Publishers.”

“I’ve heard of them.”

“They’re one of the larger companies in Sydney.”

He gave a couple of nods and said, “You’ve somewhere to stay in town?”

Rather than stay with Mrs. Scutchings, she wondered if Evie would put her up. “Yes, thanks.”

“Come back tomorrow and we’ll change your bandage. It really should be changed daily for a couple of weeks or so, until the
wound has granulated, then we’ll remove the sutures.”

“Thank you.”

He didn’t say any more, just walked for one of the massive Land Cruisers, hopped inside, and started the engine. She was about
to walk for the passenger side when he held up a hand and said, “Just a sec,” and popped the hood before jumping back out.

Yumuru peered at the V-8 engine, then cocked his head and appeared to be listening hard.

“Something wrong?” she asked. It sounded fine to her.

He reached past her and pushed the accelerator cable, making the big engine roar. Without looking up, he said, “What were
you doing in the pharmacy?”

Georgia decided on the direct approach.

“I was on the plane that went down,” she said. “With Suzie.”

“Yes. I recognized your name from the papers.”

“Oh. Well. I didn’t realize Suzie worked here until this morning,” she added cautiously, watching the side of his face. “I
thought maybe seeing her office, I might . . . I don’t know, come to terms with her death. She died in my arms, you see.”

He glanced up at that, and she recognized her own pain of recent grief reflected in his face. “She was lucky to have you with
her,” he said quietly. “Dying alone, especially after such a violent event, would have been terrible.”

Clearing his throat, Yumuru bent back over the engine, fiddling with a dirty hose. He then unclipped the air-filter lid and
had a look. She watched him pull the big circular filter out of its casing and bash it against his leg, dust flying in a cloud.
“Filthy,” he muttered.

“You seem to know your way around an engine,” she remarked.

“That’s the army for you.” He pushed the filter back into place before looking up. “Train you to fix cars, build bombs, lay
a minefield.”

“Healing suits you,” she said.

He unhooked the strut and let the hood slam shut. He smiled into her eyes. “I think it does too.”

As they cruised down the drive, a whip bird flashed past. Above the engine she heard the musical thrum of insects and was
glad Yumuru didn’t believe in driving in an iced cocoon of air-conditioning. She liked having the windows open somewhere so
lovely, even if it was hot enough to broil a steak on the hood.

She rolled her head on the headrest to look at him.

“Do you mind if I ask you about Suzie?”

“No, I don’t mind. Talking about her might . . . ease how I feel. She was a good friend. A very good friend.” His voice thickened.
“I loved her very much.”

Georgia let some time pass, allowing him to regain his composure. When they reached the end of the drive, Yumuru halted the
car.

“Where would you like to be dropped?”

“The Newview Caravan Park on Kee Beach. It’s where a friend of mine, Evie, lives. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble.”

He swung the car left.

“Did Suzie work for you for long?”

“She turned up on the doorstep five years ago, applying for a job in the pharmacy. Not many people want to work somewhere
so remote, so I grabbed her with both hands.” He sighed. “She had a wicked sense of humor.”

They talked about Suzie’s liking for practical jokes, the hours she kept, how good she was with the patients, and then they
reached a T-junction. He swung the Land Cruiser left and accelerated hard to pass a sedan towing a small tin boat.

“Do you know what sort of private research Suzie was doing?” she asked. “Robert said something about wild crocodile serum.”

His knuckles glowed white as his fingers tightened on the steering wheel. She’d touched a nerve, she knew it, but when he
spoke his voice didn’t betray anything, and his knuckles had relaxed.

“She never said. I let her use some of our equipment, that’s all.”

“But didn’t she come to an agreement with you? Surely you must have had some idea what she was working on.” Georgia wanted
to add, “Especially if she was such a good friend,” but decided not to push it.

“It might have been something to do with arthritis. Her grandmother suffered terribly. Suzie used to send packets of glucosamine
to her in China. A lot of them never got there, but she kept sending them. I reckon half her salary went on those pills. They’re
horribly expensive.”

Braking smoothly before a sharp bend in the road, Yumuru eased the car into the corner and pressured the power after the apex.
Her body barely moved.

“Suzie was Chinese, wasn’t she? With a Chinese passport. Did she have a work permit? A visa of some sort?”

Yumuru flicked her a mock alarmed look. “Please don’t tell me your publishing job is a cover and you’re actually working for
the immigration department.”

She laughed. “No. I promise.”

He shot her a quick smile. “In all honesty, I never checked. I was only too grateful having someone so well qualified. I paid
Suzie cash every month, and it suited us both fine.”

So, she thought, Suzie could well have been an illegal immigrant. She wondered if that had a bearing on the thugs’ motive,
their questions. Leather Jacket had said Lee had
stolen
Suzie. Why?

“I gather the pharmacy got broken into yesterday?”

“Yes. Not that they got much. A couple of computers. We can replace them with the insurance money. It’s the hassle more than
the actual theft. The place is such a mess.”

“I don’t suppose any of the people at the clinic had their houses broken into as well?”

He jerked his head around, obviously startled. “Not that I’m aware of. Why?”

“Just a thought,” she said vaguely.

Yumuru signaled right and joined the main road heading north. After a long, sweeping bend, Kee Beach appeared. With bright
white sand, glossy palm trees, and ocean the color of turquoise, they could have been driving into a holiday brochure.

“Do you know anything about Ronnie Chen?” she asked. “The man whose body was washed up here?”

“Only what I read in the papers.”

As he drove under the timber post of the caravan park, Yumuru peered around at the deserted vans and the half-full swimming
pool, its surface littered with branches and leaves from the storm.

“Is Evie open?” he asked. “It’s not exactly the holiday season.”

Confidently, she said, “She will be.”

“Have you known her long?”

“All my childhood.”

He pulled up outside the park’s white-painted office but didn’t turn off the engine. Georgia climbed out, shut the door, and
looked at him through the open window.

“Thanks, Yumuru. You’ve been great.”

He leaned toward her. All friendliness vanished. She took a step back. She wasn’t looking at a healer anymore.

“If you go poking about my clinic again,” he said, “I’ll have you prosecuted. Do you understand me?”

Georgia swallowed. “Yes.”

Without another word he gunned his Land Cruiser away.

T
o Georgia’s relief, Evie was there, and welcomed her with open arms. Engulfed against her huge bosom, the bitter smell of
the Aborigine’s sweat mingling with the aroma of spices and barbecued meat, Georgia felt like she was a kid again. Evie had
always given the best hugs on the planet.

Before Linette had set up the commune, they’d stayed at Evie’s caravan park, which had been a quarter of its current size
back then. When they eventually moved into the rainforest, Evie became a regular visitor, bringing crates of cold beer and
boxes of wine, sometimes some vegetables or fresh fish, but even if she came empty-handed she was always welcomed. Evie was
the best gossip in town. When they got thrown off the commune, her mother didn’t have to ask Georgia or Dawn where they wanted
to go. Evie’s park was their second home, Evie like a second mother.

“What the hell you do to your hand?”

“Slammed my finger in a car door.”

Evie looked shocked. “You poor bugger. You break it?”

“Not quite.”

Evie pulled her into another, but more gentle embrace, patting her back rhythmically as if she was a baby that needed burping.
“That’s to help it get better.”

“Sorry I dinged your car.”

Pulling back, Evie said, “One of Becky’s pilots brought it back from the airfield. I thought Matt had whacked a tree.”

“I hit a cassowary. Killed it.”

“You barbecue it, or bush-roast it? Meant to taste good, those things. Like emu or some such.” Evie was chuckling, seemingly
indifferent that Georgia had depleted the tenuous population of cassowaries from 1,500 to 1,499.

“I left it in the road.”

“Wish I’d known. I’d have had it chopped up and in my freezer in no time.” Evie fetched a handful of keys, and Georgia followed
her to the storeroom at the back of the office. “Always fancied a drumstick the size of a barrel.”

Arms laden with fresh sheets and towels, they headed through the park and toward the beach, Evie waddling like a gigantic
goose in front of Georgia along the concrete path. The way her bottom wobbled beneath her tight green dress was very familiar.

“Evie, do you know Joanie, at the healing center?”

“Sure I know her. We’re cousins.”

“Ah.”

“Best van here’s already taken,” said Evie. “You can have the second-best, but then you’d be neighbors, and since I seem to
recall you like a bit of space round you, you can always take number seventeen, right the other end of the place.”

Scampering to keep up with Evie’s giant stride, Georgia wiped her cheeks of sweat. The temperature had to be in the high nineties,
the humidity level somewhere around ninety percent. The tumultuous clouds that had been skulking above had been swept aside
by boiling winds and had left the sky clean and clear as polished crystal. Sweat leaked out of her hairline, and her T-shirt
was sticking to her chest and back like a second skin. On a day like today she could hardly believe she’d lived up here for
so long. Nine years without air-conditioning. Bloody hell.

“Who’s staying?” she asked Evie.

“That reporter. India Kane.”

“Then the second-best van would be fine. I don’t mind being next to her.”

“You met?”

“At the hospital.”

She asked Evie what she knew about the murdered man, Ronnie Chen. After all, the man’s body had washed up on her beach.

“Shot in the back of the head, I’ve been told. Jonesy—he’s one of our local constables—told me the bloke was a right piece
of work. Into everything bad you can think of. Blackmail, prostitution, kidnapping, murder, drugs, you name it, he made money
out of it.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Good riddance, if you ask me.”

Evie unlocked the door to a huge deluxe caravan overlooking Kee Beach and the Coral Sea. Each van stood on blocks between
close-cropped lawns, surrounded by cluster fig trees and varieties of ferns. As well as the swimming pool, there was a tennis
court, a crazy golf course, and a giant shower block with hibiscus climbing its walls.

India had the prime van, right on the edge of the sand and facing the mile-long northern stretch of beach, but Georgia’s was
barely second-rate. Her van merely faced south, with a half-mile view, and not the full mile. Both vans had their own electronic
fly-killers, brick-built BBQ, and private, open-air freshwater shower for rinsing off after your swim. She could see India’s
laundry baking in the sun. Loose cotton shirts and shorts, and a row of raspberry-colored G-strings.

“Bit stuffy,” said Evie as they stepped inside. “It’s been locked up a while. Here’s your key. Why don’t you leave me to it
for a bit? I’ll shake the sheets out, dust down, and get it ready for you when you get back.”